


devotion

by kalypsobean



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: Assassination Plot(s), Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Secret Messages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 16:15:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1516970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalypsobean/pseuds/kalypsobean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One good turn deserves another, and Simon's in a position to pay his debt to Mary, but not because it's going to save lives if he does. (Set before/during 1x18)</p>
            </blockquote>





	devotion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sandrine Shaw (Sandrine)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandrine/gifts).



"Really, is there no-one who cannot be bought in this country?" she exclaims, when the messenger holds out his hand.

"He said you would pay me!" And she does, sending him away with a palmful of gold and the threat of retribution if he speaks to anyone. She has no idea how long that will last, but it is French gold, and should not be suspicious.

There is so much to think about, all the time, it's exhausting. It's of a second nature to her, but there are moments that are simple, just about people, that the effort of maintaining her position and her network strain enough for a comparison.

Catherine makes it look effortless, and her mother does too, but Mary hopes she will never be like them.

 

The letter is short, and the seal was crude, designed to show any damage and not as a mark of the sender. _Your country is in danger. I will be in the woods at dusk. Simon._

Simon, who plays the game just as well, but who lost against the masters and whom she had saved in an attempt at maintaining at least some passing semblance of integrity. It seems that has bought her his loyalty, or respect, at least. Of course he can't come to court; he's supposed to be in Portugal, and nobody trusts the English, especially not an Englishman with a history of deception and plotting.

What will she have to pay him, she wonders, for even if she has his loyalty, his actions must come with a price. A higher one, given that she has already drawn on her allowance and asked her to escape from court.

It turns out to be easier than she expected. She pleads a headache that is not entirely feigned, and Francis lets her leave without so much as a concerned glance; he's distracted with the threatened visitors from Rome and his mother in his ear, and she is therefore inconsequential until he needs her again. 

 

Being a woman at court, even one with a crown and therefore at least some expectation of respect, is both a blessing and a curse. She can't get out without being seen and she is not the kind who can slip from notice like a serving-girl, even when dressed in a simpler gown and with the jewels removed from her hair.

"Fresh air will do me some good," she says to the guard at the door. Once she would have slipped through the passageways, but now even they are watched; once she would have known the guard's name and enquired after his family, but now there are too many and their faces always change, and she can't keep up. It matters little, because he doesn't stop her, and soon she is in the shadows, using them to hide from the stablehands and influential, prying eyes as she enters the woods. They have long failed to inspire dread in her.

 

Simon is as close to the castle as he dares, which is close enough that Mary doesn't expect the hand on her mouth or the arm around her waist that pulls her from the path. The lights from the castle barely break through the branches here, but it's enough for her to see him when he turns her around and lets her free.

"What are you doing?" she hisses, because now she is afraid, in the part of this tale where she cannot plan around expected interventions or rely on her ladies for support; there could still be ears here, attached to hunters or pagans, and they need food and shelter as much as any. 

Simon holds his hands up to her, palms forward, as if to show he isn't armed. He looks haggard, like he has been sleeping in barns and unable to rinse the road from his skin. "You did me a favour once, Mary, and I would have no debts between us."

"There were none," she says, "because you were supposed to leave. Portugal, wasn't it?"

But she knows enough of English politics to know they are never stable, and the only reliable trait of their Lords is that they will do anything for power. "I never made it," he says. "It seems that there was use for my talents elsewhere."

He looks around, startled by some sound and then he stumbles into her, gently pushing her back against the widest tree and facing away from the road. There is the sound of horses and the bell of a carriage, and her breathing. Simon is still, his hands on her are warm through the fabric and she feels like they burn her, leaving marks that will tell who she is to any who see them.

"We don't have time. The Queen has a plan to build a Council to rule Scotland, which means they need you out of the way."

"A Council?" She can't quite grasp it: countries are ruled by monarchs, not groups of men arguing over this and that while lining their pockets. She is the Queen of Scotland and that is a fact that she has known all her life, one that should never change while she is alive to protect it and the country whose name she bears.

"One she can control. And those who agree with her are, shall we say, a bit zealous." 

It takes another moment for her to understand, one that is made longer by how close he is, the smell of mud and hay and the heaviness in the air from rain that always seems to threaten but never falls.

"You mean my mother." 

"And you, in time, but they expect that you will be busy here for now." He tilts his head. "I understand Henry is indisposed." 

"I see we have no secrets here," she says. He smiles, briefly, but it's gone in the flicker of a shadow.

"You have to get to your mother before they do," he replies. "Your brother is on a boat here as we speak, and I have made sure that your journey back with him will be safe."

"My brother?" she says, and really, does she have any power over anything right now, if her brother can sail to France without anyone sending word to expect him? "And what is it you want out of this?" 

"I don't want my countrymen to die in a war," he says, and that she can accept, but then he leans forward and whispers, so his breath is on her skin and the words sound more intimate than if he spoke them in a candlelit room. "And I want no harm to come to you."

He kisses her on the cheek and then on her lips. She touches them with one hand as he steps away. "I'd stay longer, but you can't take that risk."

He becomes part of the shadows before she can offer to pay him, or whatever was in that moment had time to grow into something more threatening. She stays there, though, until she can be sure that nobody will see her make her way to her rooms, dazed and marked with mud and another man's touch that she isn't sure she wouldn't have welcomed.

She holds onto that last simple moment for as long as she can.


End file.
